Verse One: Malik B
  
   Yo, I'm every MC, it's all in me
   That's the way it is, when ya gotta be
   Indeed as I distort I proceed, I need
   Gettin hotter than sacks of boom, in my room at the Ramada
   Four tanks in your memory banks to fill up
   I provide the static, with scratch to match, while you catch the vibe
   Most can play high post, but yo that don't mean shit
   Because my click'll make a motherfucker sick
   I flips, redder than pork, comin to New York to mix
   [It's Bob Powers] With the snares and kicks to fix
   Rhythmatically, you got ta be, static-y
   Magiccally I appear, spark a L and drink a beer
   With air smooth, takin niggaz loot with dice
   then shoot The Roots, poetic, courageously kinetic
   Vagabond, versatile and various, plus rap styles
   of mine are blunt, pain is in the mind, so I'm fine and five
   Foot seven, inches in height
   My mission to strike mics and lighten your tights
   Ridin in, like lightning
   Flourescent, incandescent, evervescently
   I represent, Foreign Objects and Ill Elements
   Very relevant, plus intelligently managin matter
   that's makin tracks fatter, revolve around
   Saturn like rings and brins swings when I sings with bass
   Then distort up in your face like mace
   Bustin your dreams, I gasp with loaded magazines
   I'm on the rap scene, re-color fellas like a vaccine
   As I, rocks from under blunderin I'm not, lyrically
   Ya getm, shot, get caught so distort with thought, for real
   It's the illest out the Phi, short for Philidelph-iada-fly
   Money makin move fakin I isn't
   Niggaz can nah front, I'm poetically exquisite
   Wicked, with the visit while you're wonderin what is it
   Dig it, yo my mellow um whattup for the night
   [Malik B, get on the mic, get on the mic]
   Like that y'all, and yo I'm flowin, my part of the song
   It's goin, it's goin, it's gone
  
   Verse Two: Malik B
  
   Now, go get your dictionary and your Pictionary
   Cause much affliction with my diction friction slips and carries
   Words and hers like some cattle in the steeple
   People, there's no equal, or no sequel
   SO policies, of equalities, get abolished
   Demolished, distortion of the static's gettin polished
   Urges of splurge and words will just be merged
   Together, damn it's quite clever, however
   You never, can sound alike, lyrics don't be poundin like
   These, troops, who be's, Roots
   Insult ya, mellow of culture, rhythmatic vulture
   Approach ya, with Magnetic shit that's Ultra
   I make MC's dangle like a bangle
   Strangle from every angle, my lingo hingles and it jangles
   under Kangols, nahh them niggaz don't want to tangle
   Cause Roots get loose, negroes get juiced like the mango
   To be particular, extra-curricular, for pleasure
   Measure, in any weather, value more than the treasure
   Baby, you say you maybe, then come in to flex
   Now you wonder what's next...